24 Ways to Die
by oceanturtle
Summary: The luck is not in their favor.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I wish I owned the _The Hunger Games_.

**A/N: **Thank you for taking the time to look at this! Constructive criticism is welcome!

Chapter 1

* * *

All I can hear are Rory and Vince's snores on either side of me. My mother is snoring, too. Posy isn't but she's talking, and the familiar cacophony is too much for me to bear, especially on a day like this. Tomorrow at this time, I might be gone.

I get to my feet. The only sound is the rusty bread frame's long, drawn-out creak. Rory and Vince snuggle into the warm space that I've left and I tuck the blanket closer around their small bodies. Rory shifts, his snores hitching, and I think he's going to wake up but he doesn't. Instead, he punches out a fist that misses Vince's nose by less than an inch and then rolls back over, his snores continuing again. Posy mutters something about kittens, but I have given up attempting to decipher her words.

My mother cracks open her gray eyes and looks at me for a long time. I can't bear her stare, either, so I turn away. I hear her moving in the bed, settling Posy closer to herself. When I turn around shortly before I'm out of the room, her eyes are closed again.

It's so early that it is still very dark. I love this time of day, when no one is around and I can believe that there is no Reaping, that there are no Hunger Games. Nobody is milling around nervously, already in their best clothes, waiting for two o'clock. It's just me in the darkness, walking my well-worn path to the woods and slipping effortlessly under the fence that is supposed to be electric all the time but only occasionally is. I retrieve my weapons from the center of a tree—I only keep some of them in the hollow log—and continue walking through the forest. My first snare, a simple one that catches the leg of an animal as it takes a morsel of bread, has a wide-eyed squirrel in it already. I kill it quickly and continue. The rest of my traps yield two more squirrels, two rabbits, and a blackbird. All of them go into my bag. It's Reaping Day. There are bound to be Peacekeepers everywhere, anywhere. Most know perfectly well what I do, but if one was feeling uncharitable, I could get whipped and imprisoned.

Whipped and imprisoned. The thought intrigues me for just a second. I could get caught. I could get whipped and put into the stocks. But then I wouldn't get Reaped. They would fix it, wouldn't they? Surely they wouldn't want to let tributes who were already injured. They wouldn't let me out of the stocks to go to the Capitol, either.

I squash down the thoughts as quickly as they come. It's no good to hope. I don't want to get whipped, and I don't want to be put into the stocks. Even if I did and I got Reaped, they probably _would_ make me go to the Games, anyways. They might think it's funny.

People are just leaving their homes as I'm getting to the town square. They wish one another luck. "May the luck be in your favor," they say. I know that they don't mean it. They want the luck to be in theirs.

The bakery is already open. I can see two of the baker's sons in there already, one bent over at the counter, arranging pastries in the glass case. The other is in front of the ovens, pulling something out. The smell of something sweet reaches my nose. Cake? Cookies? I don't know, because I've never tasted either of them. If things go badly today at the Reaping, I probably never will.

Neither the baker nor his shrew of a wife are present. There aren't any customers in there, so I walk in. The baker's younger son—Mellark is their last name—turns from the ovens with round pans on a slab of stone. He's saying something to his brother. "That's not what Madge—"

He sees me. I look at the round pans. They must be cakes, even though they're too flat. I hear there are layers in cakes, with sweet frosting in between. That's what Prim says, but I couldn't really care less.

Mellark looks at my bag. "Trade?" he queries. When I nod, he sets the pans on a stone counter. Wiping his hands on his apron, he comes out from behind the swinging partition that and walks past me, to a door that I know too well. He opens it and goes in. I follow. The room has a stone table. I set my bag on it and pull out the squirrels. He exits the room for a and returns with a large loaf of bread. It's more than the squirrels are worth, but I'm not one to question extra food, so I nod and put it in a different section of my bag.

I'm about to leave when Mellark says, "Good luck today. You and your friend—" he falters slightly on _friend_, which makes me pause and turn. Does he—

He looks up and his bright blue eyes meet my not-so-bright-or-blue ones. "Just—good luck, alright?" He's slightly nervous, but he doesn't twitch.

I stare at him for a moment and to his credit, he stares back. Then I nod again. "Thanks." My voice isn't friendly. Then I hitch the strap of my bag further over my shoulder and leave.

There are even more people out. A couple of them smile at me. I pass some light-haired Reaping-age kids, dressed in their Reaping finery. Their clothes mock me. They look nervous, which irks me to no end. They can have only a few names in the Reaping Ball, at the most. They don't need the tesserae to survive. I don't even want to think about how many names I have in the Ball, but even worse, I don't want to think about Rory's. His name is only in there once—I wouldn't let him take any tesserae at all. That is something for which I am glad. I have taken out so much, but it doesn't matter as long as he doesn't have to.

I pick up my pace as I near the fence again. It doesn't take me long to get to get to where I wish I could always be. She is already there, waiting. She grins a real grin at me and I give her one in return.

"Look what Prim gave us," she says, holding up a lump that I recognize as cheese wrapped in basil leaves. A plastic bucket of blackberries sits beside her left foot.

I grin and brandish my newly-acquired loaf of bread. She passes me the cheese and I'm about to open it when a quick movement from her direction catches her eyes. I turn reflexively in time see her toss a berry from the bucket and say with a nasally Capitol accent, "May the luck—"

I catch the berry in my mouth. "—Be in your favor!" I finish. We laugh.

We hunt, but the entire time, all I can think about is the Reaping. She is thinking about it too; I can tell. It shows in the way she looks but doesn't see, how she hears me but she doesn't listen. We collect strawberries together, but the walk back to town is silent. I carry the bucket of blackberries, since it's heavier than the basket of strawberries. Katniss doesn't say anything until we're at the back doorstep of the mayor and the mayor's daughter opens the door.

"Hello, Katniss," says the girl. She has an expensive-looking dress made of some expensive-looking material. Her curly hair is blonde, a sign of the merchant class, and it's all smooth and styled. There's a shining gold pin on her dress. I stare at it.

"Hello, Madge," says Katniss. She hands Madge the basket and Madge gives her money.

"Thank you," she says. She stands there awkwardly and so does Katniss, but then she shakes out her hair slightly and says, "Good luck at the Reaping today."

"Thanks," says Katniss.

"Are you nervous?" asks Madge.

Katniss shrugs as if she's not, but then Madge says, "I am."

I can't help but snort here. Both of them look at me and I say, "What do _you_ have to be nervous about? You can only have your name in the Ball—what? Five times?"

Katniss shoots me a look and Madge smiles stiffly before saying, "Thank you for the strawberries. I'll see you at the Reaping, Katniss." Then she takes a step back into her house and Katniss and I go.

Neither of us say anything until we get back to the Seam. At the place where the path splits between our houses, I say tersely, "I'll see you."

"Wear something nice," she says flatly.

* * *

I don't wear a something nice because I don't have anything nice. I wear what I wore when I was hunting. Silently, my mother and I help Rory into his clothes, even though he's twelve years old and doesn't need us to. I leave my half of the blackberries in the cabinet under the stove because this is the Seam, and I wouldn't put it past anyone to break in because they saw food on the table.

Rory looks so much smaller than the other boys his age. They're all small and shaking. Some of them are skinnier and I feel a somewhat bitter sense of relief because even though he's smaller, he looks better-fed and stronger. Prim stands in the section adjacent to his, looking straight ahead. They stand next to one another, with just the rope between them. Rory leans over to whisper something to Prim, who nods.

I see Madge and Katniss standing next to each other in their section,. Katniss has her worrying face on and a deep furrow in her forehead as she stares at Prim. Madge takes her hand and squeezes it and I'm glad that Katniss, at least, has someone there with her.

I don't hear anything the mayor says. I just watch Katniss and Rory and Prim. _It won't be them_, I tell myself. There are so many names in the ball. What are the odds?

Finally, the Reaping starts. Effie Trinket, District 12's escort, scampers up to the stage and talks about how exciting this will be. No one says anything in response, because it's not going to be any more exciting than it is every year. Then our one and only victor, Haymitch Abernathy, stumbles where he stands next to the podium. He grabs onto Effie for support, who shrieks when he knocks her pink wig off. The hair underneath is a shade of light orange, slicked back with product to make it fit under the wig. She stamps of Haymitch's foot and pushes him off before reclaiming her fake hair and sticking it back on.

"So," she continues, irked but pretending that whole scuffle did not happen. "Shall we do the gentlemen first?" No one answers, but I suppose she didn't need anyone to. Standing on her tiptoes, she sticks her hand into the boys' Reaping Ball and swirls the contents around before picking one. Clearing her throat delicately, she reads, "Rory Hawthorne!"

* * *

Rory looks so small. Trembling, he makes his way to the edge of his section and under the rope. The other boys have moved out of his way. There's a sound, a sharp cry that is both familiar and unfamiliar: my mother. I can't see Katniss' face, but her back is stiff, so stiff, like one of the arrows in the bow that is currently hidden in a rotting log in the woods. I'm never going to see that log again.

I don't even think before I shout, "I volunteer!" The boys in my section, some of which are my friends, clear out of my way. One of them, Thom Richardson, claps my shoulder but I don't respond because I'm too busy sprinting down the aisle and to the short staircase, since Rory hasn't stopped. I grab him by the back of his shirt and pull him down. He yelps but I push him back into the twelve-year-old section.

"No!" he shouts, trying to get back up the stairs, but Katniss is there, somehow, pulling him down. I catch a glimpse of her face and it's hard. I can't see her eyes because her head is ducked down.

"Go on, Gale," she says, her voice without any inflection whatsoever. I go up.

"What's your name?" Effie asks me cheerfully.

"Gale Hawthorne," I say. Katniss is standing in Rory's section, her arms clamped around his struggling self.

"I'll bet my buttons that he's your brother," she says, her voice even cheerier.

How could she not? Hawthorne isn't exactly a common name. "Yes," I say. It's then that I hear the whispers going around the crowd, the slight excitement because Rory was so small. District Twelve knows me. I have a much better chance of winning than Rory does. What a pleasant surprise this is for them.

Katniss is holding Rory tightly. I stare at her. I can't look away. I don't know how this could get worse.

"Well," says Effie brightly. "This is sure to be an exciting Hunger Games!"

No one says anything. Rory is still now, his head bowed. Katniss is looking at me, her face blank. There is a beat of silence, filled only with the sounds of my mother's sobs, and then Effie moves to the girls' Ball.

"Well," she says. There is little fanfare this time, as one volunteer is one more than she's ever experienced in her experience as an escort and she doesn't expect another one. Her arm looks like a dead baby bird's wing as she puts it into the ball. She doesn't mix up the names.

It seems to be a long time. My mother is hiccuping now. Mrs. Everdeen has an arm around her.

Effie pulls her hand out and it gets worse. "Primrose Everdeen!" she calls.

* * *

Katniss is frozen. I tear my eyes from her to see Prim, who is struggling to get through her section. Katniss' mother releases a wail, and now there are two mothers, side by side, crying because their children have been taken by the Games.

Rory twists in Katniss' arms, and Katniss has regained enough of herself to watch as Prim moves toward the platform. I can see the indecision in Katniss' face, which is no longer blank. She looks at Prim, then and Rory, then at me. Remembering the promise we made, that if one of us were Reaped, the other would take care of the families.

She squeezes her eyes shut and her shoulders shake once. Rory holds on to her. She opens her eyes as Prim is halfway to the steps. Then she starts shaking all over and she looks at me. There's apology in her eyes as she pulls herself from Rory, and I know what she's going to do. There's no way she would let Prim go to the Games. Even if it meant both of our families had to suffer. She's going to volunteer.

_No,_ I want to shout. Not only because of my family, but also because of her. I can't fight in the Games with Katniss. Against Katniss.

She steps away from Rory, frantic. Prim is at the bottom of the steps. Katniss' voice is strong. "I—"

"I volunteer."

It's not Katniss' voice. The crowd turns to see Madge Undersee step out from her section and into the aisle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the _Hunger Games _series, I wouldn't be writing this.

**A/N: **Thank you for taking the time to look at this! And thank you for the reviews.

Chapter 2

* * *

I vaguely think that I've never seen Katniss this surprised before. Her mouth is slightly open and her arms are limp at her sides. Rory, who is almost as tall as her, holds her still now, but he doesn't have to because she's not moving. Prim is frozen on the steps. My mother is still hiccuping loudly, but Ms. Everdeen has stopped. I notice the faces of different people: Mellark's eyes are wide, Thom has no expression, and the man that I recognize as the candle-maker frowns deeply.

Madge is trembling only the slightest amount as she walks toward the stage and as soon as she's close enough, she takes Prim's hand and moves her over to where Katniss is in Rory's section. Then she squeezes Katniss' arm and moves up next to me. The crowd is silent the whole time. The noticeable lack of sobs surprises me. What about her parents? I look to where the mayor was, but he's not there anymore.

Effie's words don't penetrate the haze that overcomes me. Everything seems as though it's slow and not real. Like this is a dream. Madge and I are holding hands. Hers is clammy but I couldn't tell you what mine was like. Katniss has Prim and Rory at her sides. She's shut her mouth and has a mask on her face, closing it off to everyone. She looks at the stage, right at Madge and me, but she doesn't see anything and all I see is her. They raise my arm and Madge's in celebration, and I notice that Katniss is biting her lip, hard.

Then it's over. Peacekeepers are leading Madge and me to the main road where the car is waiting. I slacken my grip to remove my hand from hers, but she doesn't let go so I hold on again. The interior of the car is soft and rich everywhere and it smells like something I can't identify. People pull thick belts from somewhere in the car and attach them elsewhere. The belts hold us in place, and the car begins to move. Our fingers are linked as we ride. Madge looks straight ahead, barely even blinking.

I've been inside the Justice building before, with my family, when my father died in the mine accident. I haven't been there since. The interior of the building looks exactly the same as before. Same furniture, same paintings, same colors, same feeling.

They pull us apart and lead us to different rooms. The couch I sit upon is made of velvet but when I run my fingers over the edges of the seat, I can feel spots where the fluff has come off and left a scratchy bald patch. I'm trying to estimate the total surface area of these spots when the door opens and my family rushes in.

Vick is the fastest. He leaps over to me, almost tripping on the low wooden table. I catch him and pull him up and he wraps his arms around my neck. Rory sits on my left. My mother and Posy sit on the right. They are all holding on to me and it's uncomfortable because Vick's knee is digging into my chest and it's a little bit hard to breathe, but I don't tell them to get off because as much as I wish they wouldn't hold on to me like that, I know that I'll eventually wish they were. Later, when I'm dying somewhere in the Games, I'll wish someone was holding on to me then.

I think I'm a realistic person: not a pessimist, nor an optimist. I know how to survive and I know how to eat when there's not any food to be found, but what do I know about anything else that might be necessary to live in the Games? Like how to kill people. I've never done that before.

The feeling of something wet at my face draws me out of my thoughts. Vick's head is buried at my neck and it's wet there, too. Rory paws at his cheeks and my mother, whom I've outgrown long ago, has her cheek pressed against mine. Posy, who has crawled into my lap alongside Vick, is the only one who's not crying. She's too young to understand.

"I love you, Gale," says Vick. He's crying hard now. Rory is, too, but he's trying not to. Loud, half-strangled hiccuping noises come from Rory's turned head because of his efforts and I want to tell him that it's okay, that he can cry because I'll be alright, but nothing comes out.

None of us says anything.

* * *

We've just been sitting, my mother occasionally brushing the hair out of my face—another thing I don't like, but this isn't really the time to shake her off—and Posy wriggling because she can't sit still for long, for over half an hour when there's a knock on the door. My family slowly detaches from me.

"That'll be Katniss," says my mother, and I frown. Katniss wouldn't interrupt the remaining time I have with my family. But they've already stood up, so I don't say what I'm thinking.

"We love you, Gale," says Vick again, reluctant to leave. They're all reluctant. I hug each of them.

"Katniss will bring game," I say to my mother. She clings onto me and steps on her tiptoes to kiss my forehead. "Don't worry, okay?"

She's still crying and she nods, but I know she's going to worry anyways.

"What are you going to do?" asks Vick as I crouch down to hug him. "You have to win, okay?"

I'm surprised then, that no one's said that yet. I nod. For the first time, I'm making a promise I'm not sure I can keep.

Rory won't look at me and when I hug him, he stands stiffly. Still, I hold on and squeeze him tightly.

"It will be okay," I say, even though the Games are hell and it probably won't.

The door opens just as I lift Posy up. She grabs onto a handful of my hair, they way she always used to when she was a baby. I see Katniss' face in the open doorway and I'm confused because I'm almost completely sure she wouldn't knock during what could possibly be my last hour with my family, but she's scowling to the side. I don't understand until Mayor Undersee steps past her, glaring back, and into the room.

I tighten my grip on Posy because even though I know the mayor, I don't know the reason he's here and as much as I don't hate him, I'd rather spend the rest of the time with my family. I scowl at him as well. Maybe if I'd done this some other time, I'd get a whipping or something because we've all learned in school to never disrespect the authority, but I'm feeling kind of powerful. I'm about to go off to the Capitol to die, so I think I can do what I want.

"May I please talk to you, Mister Hawthorne?" the mayor asks stiffly.

Katniss makes a rude hand gesture behind him, which I've never seen her do before, and I chuckle. Mayor Undersee's lips tighten into a line. His head twitches to the side, like he wants to see what she's doing, but he keeps it facing forward, facing me.

"Sure, Mayor," I say. I turn to Posy and kiss her cheek. "Be good, alright?"

"Yes, Gale," she says in a small voice. I put her down. The mayor watches as my mother hugs me one more time and leads my family out. Katniss makes a face and it's the last thing I see before the door closes and it's just the mayor and me in the room.

"Have a seat, Mister Hawthorne. It's Gale, right?"

I sit after he does. "Yes," I reply. "Gale."

Neither of us says anything for at least three minutes. During that time, I can feel my temper rising. "Mister Mayor," I say, unclenching my teeth. "Are you here to waste my time?"

"No, Mister Hawthorne," he replies, as tense as I am. "I'm here to make you a proposition."

I assume he was waiting to increase the suspenseful effect or something. "Well," I say. "Please get on with it."

He's quiet for a second, but then he speaks. His eyes look squarely into mine. "I want you to make sure Madge wins."

It takes a second to penetrate. "What?" I ask, even though I know what he said.

"Madge has to win. You have to die."

* * *

I find myself scoffing, riding this high that comes from knowing I'll probably _will_ die sometime in the next month or so. I stand. "It's tempting," I say with more than enough sarcasm. "But I'll have to pass."

He stands as well. "I'm sure it is," he replies. "And it'll be even more so when I tell you of the alternatives." There's the silvery edge of a threat in his voice, which makes me still. He's sweating.

"Alternatives?" I echo, scrutinizing the man. I've never known him well—or at all; it's usually Madge who pays for the strawberries—but I've always thought of him as rather soft and useless. After all, why else wouldn't he have been able to help with the starvation problem, or high teenage pregnancy problem, or the our-tributes-always-die-in-the-Games problem? Seems that he's not, because he can imply threats as well as the next person.

"Yes," he says. His eyes are gray, I notice. He steps closer to me. "Madge has to live," he says. "Or your family won't have anything to eat. You might live, but they might starve." His hands are behind his back and he speaks casually, but his face is red and he's tense all over. "Your little friend," he continues, "Miss Katniss Everdeen. She can't bring food if she's dead, can she?" At the end, his voice isn't calm anymore and he's shouting.

My pulse pounds in my ears.

"I'm the mayor!" he shouts, as if I didn't already know it. He's stepping closer. "You won't be here to protect them. I can have all of them killed. You'd be surprised what people would do for food."

I want to throttle him.

Mayor Undersee glances at the clock and twitches as he shouts. "I need an answer!"

This feels even less real than the Reaping. What am I supposed to do? If I say yes, I die. If I say no, Katniss dies. My family dies. But I'm not the type to follow rules.

"Okay," I say after a minute or so. It's hard.

The tension seems to deflate out of the mayor and he stands there for a second, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. I glare at him. The expression on his face when he looks at me might be guilt. He's about to say something to me, but instead he mutters to himself, "It's for the best." Then he leaves.

I sink down into the couch again. What am I going to do?

The door opens again and I look up to see Katniss striding toward me. We sit on the couch without talking until she turns to me. "You should find a bow," she says, and I know she's talking about the Games. "It'll make things easier."

I blink in surprise. I haven't even thought about what strategies I'm going to use. Too busy thinking about the Mayor's threat.

I look at her—her face, her shoulders, everything that I normally try to ignore. She doesn't notice. She never notices. That's why she never sees why I'm always getting into fistfights at school with the boys who comment on her. _Oh, that Katniss Everdeen, she would be great in a dress, but even better with it off,_ or _Imagine her with her hair down and all over my pillow_.

They don't comment so much anymore.

She's silent and I know I have to say something. She's fast and she's strong, but she can't look over her shoulder all the time.

"Katniss. Be careful," I begin.

She's even pretty when she snorts, which she's doing now. "I should say the same thing to you," she says.

"No," I say, "No, listen. Mayor—"

Then the door opens and three Peacekeepers step in. There's sympathy on the face of one, but the other two are impassive. "Time's up," one of them says.

We stand. Before I know it, Katniss has thrown her arms around my neck. She's warm and familiar and smells like home. I close my eyes and try to memorize how this feels because the chances are that I'm not going to get to feel it again.

"You have to come back," she whispers fiercely into my ear. "You have to."

"I will," I say, holding her tightly. The Peacekeepers come into the room and toward us. I close my eyes again. They fly open when her lips brush over mine, but the Peacekeepers are pulling her away and I can't tell if she did it on purpose or not. "Gale!" she shouts. "Gale, remember—"

Her hand slides past my neck and its the last part of her that I feel before they yank her out of the room. The door shuts and I know I'll never know what she wanted to say.

* * *

**A/N: **I don't have a beta! If someone would like to, please message me!


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